THE UNUSUAL SEED

ELIZABETH

Thirty years ago, I became acquainted with Elizabeth. As a private tutor, I would be assisting her in the academics. What a darling eight year old she was, with dark, curly hair. Brown glass frames surrounded her big brown eyes. She was quite content, giving me a big smile as we introduced ourselves to one another. We took our seats at the table and began what would be many years of a beautiful student-teacher relationship.

Staying longer than the one-hour session, we would munch on some dinner, as we worked on many a class project. There were words to learn to make reading fun and the fundamentals of writing a sentence, soon to become great essays of adventure and history.

Math became entertaining rather than a nightmare, moving from one concept to the next. We would visit away as flour and water were mixed to make dough for map making, or dirt and glue to design an Indian village. The messier things were, the more we enjoyed working on the assignment. Of course, there were the sugar cubes, stacked to make the pyramids of Egypt and the igloos of Alaska.

I watched Elizabeth change from being a darling child into a young lady as she began her junior high years. We continued to write papers, do math problems and complete messy projects. I began to know some of her friends from school, offering advice as needed.

She began to know the man I had started to date, with him stopping by while we were doing lessons. When I married Tom, she was the only young person invited to the wedding. She wore a bright red dress, setting off those dark brown eyes, now behind contact lenses, and her dark hair, showing the beautiful 12 year old she had become.

Our time together now went beyond the lessons. We would pick her up to take her on mountain picnics. Out would come the chicken and potato salad, sitting in a meadow surrounded by aspen trees, a small creek nearby. There would always be chocolate, a favorite for the three of us, to finish off our meal. We would visit non-stop during our walk out of the meadow and on the way home, dropping her off after dark where she and her parents resided.

On a beautiful summer afternoon, our phone would ring, with Elizabeth on the other end. She would say it was a nice day to have a meadow picnic, telling us what to bring and what time we should pick her up. We were delighted she wanted to enjoy the outdoors with us.

Soon, we had another person joining us on the picnics, our baby son. Elizabeth and our son adored one another; I do not know who had the bigger smile. I had told her years before it was as if she was my first child; now she was the big sister of Bret. A few years later, Molly was born, making her a big sister once again. We continued our lessons at the table through these years, with her spending extra time at the house to be with Bret and Molly. They could not wait for her to come. We continued with our picnics. Elizabeth and I were attached at the shoulders, whether on a picnic, having lessons, or sitting in the backyard of her family home. One summer evening, she and I were leading the mountain walk, side by side, as she told me of the boy she liked at school, with our baby Molly snuggled around my chest, Bret and Tom not too far behind us. We were having quite an intense conversation when ‘the boys’ came running up to us. They said a deer walked directly in front of us, crossing our path. The two of us had not noticed, as we were talking, heads down as we watched the trail in front of us. All of us laughed, saying our conversation took a priority over a four legged animal in nature!

There were knocks at the door, and phone calls were frequent, as she got into her teens. She needed to air what was bothering her or had a personal problem to solve. There was the noon day visit one day to tell me she had wrecked the car her dad had just finished re-furbishing and she hadn’t been home yet to tell him; would I be silently by her sideas she broke the news.

It became time for Elizabeth to write her essay for college admission. She came over to show me her writing. I was quite surprised to see that she had made me the topic of her essay. She talked about the odd- looking seed that ‘Marie’ had found in the garden. Instead of tossing it away, I had tended to it, giving it extra care. I would not give up on the different seed.

She named herself as being the different seed. I had taken something no one else wanted and made it blossom into something wonderful. No longer was the world filled with complex and intricate symbols. In its place was a harmony, displayed as “one extraordinary pattern.” Dyslexia no longer dominated her learning. Academics made sense. I had encouraged her to take up different athletics, where she excelled. The funny looking seed had sprouted into success.

I was overcome by her writing. For once, I was at a loss for words. Never did I expect anyone to base a paper on my actions. My working with her was always a joy, never a chore.

Elizabeth did get into college, and during her freshman year, I gave birth to our third child, arriving eight weeks early. I knew Elizabeth would love to see the new addition to our family, meeting Kathryn when she came home for the summer, ready to take her on a meadow picnic.

One spring morning, with Kathryn in my arms, I received a phone call; Elizabeth had died the day before, in a car accident. She had just taken off her seat belt to grab some bread off the floor to make a sandwich. She and the driver of the car laughed at the smashed bread. The car went slightly off the road. An overcorrection had the car swerve and Elizabeth was ejected from the car, dying instantly.

Part of me died that day. Tom felt the same way. It was tough to tell Bret and Molly the teen they loved and adored was not coming home. Baby Kathryn would only know her through our memories.

In time, as Kathryn grew, people began to call her Elizabeth. An instant apology was said, saying they did not know why he or she called her Elizabeth instead of Kathryn. We would only smile, saying it was fine, thinking of our ‘first child.’

Elizabeth became part of Kathryn’s life, keeping her alive by memories. Soon after her passing, her parents asked if we would take them to the meadow where we picnicked all those years. There, some of Elizabeth’s ashes were spread, always being there as we ate our chicken and chocolates in later years.

In her young wisdom, around the age of nine, Kathryn asked me if it was true that Elizabeth died when she was eight weeks old. I said yes. She continued, asking me if it was true that she was born eight weeks early. Again, I said yes. After a pause, she said that then it was so, that when one dies, another one was born. I could only smile, tears coming to my eyes.

Kathryn, now age 18, came to me several years ago, to ask how old she was when Elizabeth died. She had forgotten our previous conversation. I said she was only eight weeks old. She was surprised, as it felt she had always known her. I replied that it shows how strong Elizabeth’s spirit is, strong memories living within her. This was uncommon for me to say, but so many of her actions were just like Elizabeth’s, all the way down to her dark hair and radiant eyes.

Teachers, friends and acquaintances continue to call Kathryn by the name of Elizabeth. Our family smiles as we hear this, knowing God has a way to help mend our broken hearts.

As her parents cleaned out Elizabeth’s dorm room, they found a letter she had just written me, sitting on her desk. I could not bear to read it for a number of months. When I did, she was writing to tell me how she was interested in Christianity, wanting to know more. I wish I could have told her about our Trinitarian Christ and how glorious it is to have Him in our daily lives. What visits we would have had!

I think she knows this, though. She has left a positive impact on our family. I, as others, will always feel Elizabeth remains alive, in our actions and in our hearts.

A New Year is starting, the time for all of us to adopt the seed that is an anomaly among the many. Do so in the memory of Elizabeth, or someone else leaving tugs to the heart. May God’s Spirit and Blessings be felt as the seed is nourished, blossoming into success.

~Marie T. Morrison~

MEMORIES

It is the end of the year, a time to think about the memories coming to us through the past 365 days. Review photos, conversations and pictures, in our minds and thoughts. Laugh over them, cry over them, talk about them. The emotions will differ. No matter what they are, it is okay. Our Lord expects tears, frustrations, anger, laughter, satisfaction and love. If life was easy, there would be no wisdom, lessons learned through experience. It may not be as we had hoped, but it is the God’s way. The actions of one person may save the lives of hundreds. It does not seem fair, but it is not up to us to judge; that is saved for our Lord and Savior.
~Marie T. Morrison~

DECADES

In a relationship, there may be a bump or two. Pray to our Lord, what is best do to at the time of an upset. There is the question, of what should be done; should one cut only the wronged branch or should the roots be destroyed, severing any future hope of renewing growth among the branches. Trees can last decades. It is up to us feeling God's spirit, to make a relationship last as long.
~Marie T. Morrison~

Wipe Away The Tears

Something hard to realize is that we cannot control everything in life. Trying to fight to make it so will not work. Prayer is what helps. God can fill the soul with solace. He will help wipe away the tears, whispering words of encouragement. As we let go, tranquility replaces the storm.


~Marie Morrison~

MELODIES

Music fills the soul with spirituality, doing so for hundreds of years. It is not a coincidence. God is hiding in the wings of angels, as they spread the same melodious notes of peace and comfort to humanity across the seas.


~Marie Morrison~